


Yours To Keep

by Riachinko



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Aftercare, Biting, Blow Jobs, Choking, Collars, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Pet, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: LeFou can feel the collar beneath his clothes, a constant reminder of his faithfulness to Gaston. And he makes a great pet.





	Yours To Keep

**Author's Note:**

> I meant for this to be a stupid throwaway thing but I didn't go nearly as hard as I'd intended and idk I'm really sorry about this baloney.

He can feel the collar.

Of course he can, it's an entirely new sensation. It chafes his neck when he moves too quickly, which is constantly, as he's engaged in a lively game of darts with Dick. It isn't too tight on his neck - Gaston made perfectly sure that it was as comfortable as a dog’s leather collar could be around a human’s neck - but the way it rubs, underneath his blouse and cravat…there's no mistaking that LeFou belongs to Gaston.

It's how it should be, he thinks. He's spent years trying to show Gaston the lengths he'd go to, just to prove how important Gaston is to him. How magnificent and perfect and handsome he is.

Just to prove how much Gaston already owns him.

LeFou knows he's being watched. Partially because subtlety has never been Gaston's strong suit, but also because it was stated explicitly before they left LeFou's house together before dinner.

“ _I'll be watching the colour in your cheeks_ ,” he'd purred into LeFou's ear; fingers wrapped firmly around his neck as an unnecessary reminder of it all. “ _Will it excite you to be hiding something so shameful from your friends?_ ”

LeFou already had _had_ colour in his cheeks before they'd set foot out the door. And now - he has no idea what state he’s in now, and thinking about it only makes things worse. He can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins; with each of his movements, he feels more and more bound to his role.

Dick - anyone, for that matter - hasn't mentioned a thing so far; LeFou can be quite the actor, but part of him _wants_ to be obvious about it. He wants to let every man in the tavern know what a disgusting pervert he is, needs every woman to know that Gaston has chosen _him_ for this. He knows that any blush that crawls across his cheeks - when the metal of the collar’s ring touches him in _just the right way_ \- will be misconstrued as a result of the alcohol, though he isn’t even close to being drunk.

“Put some heart into it, LeFou!” Tom chides from the sidelines.

Dick takes LeFou’s arms and moves him aside as he steps up to the dartboard, as though he was an object. It stokes the fire in him and LeFou chances a look over at Gaston.

Gaston hovers just slightly behind Tom with his arms crossed confidently, Tom himself is sat at a small circular table close to the dartboard, cupping his pitcher of beer, watching his friends’ game eagerly.

Dick is a more than a capable opponent, better suited to competing against Gaston. LeFou would feel more in his league beside Tom, drinking cheap beer and watching. The way Dick sets his feet keeps him upright like a stone wall. He hits the outer ring of the bullseye with his first dart for 25 points and LeFou deflates as he watches the second and third dart hit nearly as closely.

“You don't have to let me win,” Dick laughs, and the others laugh together as well, “I can beat you fair and square any day of the week!”

God, does he want a drink.

LeFou aligns himself sideways to the board, rolls his shoulders and lets his darts fly as best he knows how. It’s a distracting game, and one which he loses quickly enough as he spies Gaston whispering into a woman’s ear from the corner of his eye. She titters when he slaps her backside; passes her chair to him and leaves towards the bar, flustered and giggling. LeFou frowns.

“Well, we knew the outcome before we started, didn't we?” Dick laughs again, slapping LeFou’s upper back.

And it's true: LeFou knew he would never be able to focus on a game of darts, not with Gaston staring him down when he’s otherwise not flirting with whorish women; not with the promise of depraved intimacy constantly scratching at him under his clothes. He'd been silently begging for it the instant that Gaston had fastened the thin tanned leather around his neck.

So he chuckles, says, “I'll have to get you back next time,” and makes his way through a sea of drunken townsfolk until he finds himself stumbling up to the bar top, hailing the barkeep.

“Beer. One, please,” LeFou says, and just as he's about to shut his mouth, Gaston whistles thrice, and in quick succession. LeFou's head snaps around to confirm that, yes, that was his best friend that just whistled at him as though he was a dog. Gaston raises a finger. “Make that two, sorry.”

Everyone had seen it. Nobody could have missed hearing that piercing whistle, and it's not even particularly out of place over the roaring of the tavern patrons, but the implications it holds for LeFou makes him weak at the knees.

He pays for the ale with the livres he'd been given earlier in the evening and makes his way back to the small table at the far corner of the tavern.

It's a bustling Thursday night without a spare chair in sight - none except for the chair on which Gaston's feet now rest. LeFou knows instinctively that it's a challenge. He holds the two steins tight; attempts to kick at the chair with his right foot, hooking the toe of his boot around its leg, but Gaston's weight keeps it firmly in place.

LeFou scans the room for an alternative and comes up short; even Dick now simply leans against the wall by the dart board, waiting for another opponent to come along as he sips his whiskey.

“I'm sorry there are no free seats, my friend,” Gaston says warmly, taking his stein from LeFou and drinking deeply from it. “You'll have to sit on the floor.”

And that's when LeFou can feel it, undeniably: the heat rising in his chest, dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. The arousal he's felt all evening feels tangible, stirring heavily in his gut. He swallows but his throat feels sticky; he opens his mouth to speak, but he can't.

Tom and Dick look on dumbfounded, but neither of them dare to question the infallible Captain Gaston. They seem at ease finally when LeFou sits on the cold wooden floorboards beside Gaston and chugs his drink. Stanley joins the table shortly thereafter, greets them all with a cheerful “Good evening!” but his face drops as soon as he spots LeFou on the floor.

Gaston lifts his feet and boots the chair over to Stanley, who takes hold of it, but doesn't sit. LeFou knows firsthand how adept Stanley can be at picking up on Gaston's brutish nature, and the kid looks downright conflicted.

“LeFou was here first,” he says, brow quivering in confusion, “it's only right that he takes it.”

“It's fine,” LeFou chirps. It's all he can manage to say before Gaston's hand pats his head - just once, but it makes LeFou look up into the darkest, most seductive eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. Like the ocean; like he could be swallowed up at any moment. Gaston could do anything he wanted right now and LeFou would be too hypnotized by the look on his face to care.

Shortly thereafter, the crew of them are locked in conversation. Gaston had made mention of being interested in purchasing a goat, and Tom’s cheeks glow a healthy red as he babbles on about livestock. Stanley finds it entertaining, in the very least. LeFou doesn't.

He can tell by the way Gaston's fingers drum against the tabletop that his mind is elsewhere as well. He can tell by the way Gaston's narrow jawline is clenched - making the subtle cleft in his chin all the more pronounced - that he's only engaging in idle conversation to make LeFou go mad.

But how long can it last, LeFou wonders. Surely it's a strange sight to behold - even the scruffiest of town drunks can find a seat over by the fireplace.

It’s impossible to win Gaston’s game, so LeFou makes to stand, pushing himself up off the floor awkwardly - his knees ache from sitting cross-legged and his derriere is chilled and tingling.

“We should probably get going anyway, hm?” he smiles.

Gaston looks as though he's just been struck by a stray arrow as he looks up at his friend, mouth agape. LeFou’s heart pounds in his chest - he knows he'll be dealing with some form of punishment at home - as Gaston's awed expression transforms into one painted by the devil himself. His nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth twitches in the faintest of grins.

“Yes, It's about that time,” Gaston yawns. “We're headed to Thiais bright and early tomorrow morning.”

He chugs down the last of his ale and slams the mug down on the table. LeFou follows suit and tags along behind him as Gaston waves to the patrons and LeFou wishes each one an enthusiastic “Good night, a bientôt!”

 

“That was against our rules,” Gaston says flatly as they breach the chilled outdoors, but his words have a faux sincerity about them. He walks ahead, LeFou trailing just slightly behind.

The rules that had been laid out for him had been simple: “ _Don’t talk back and do as you’re told. Remember who owns you._ ” He’d been a ball of nerves at the outset, as the leather had been fastened around him - the smell of it overwhelming, filling his senses. But for the most part, doing as Gaston said had been mercifully simple; it’s what LeFou always did anyway.

“You wanted out of there as much as I did,” LeFou grins, walking faster now to keep up with Gaston's long strides.

Gaston turns his head to give LeFou a once-over glance. The smile on his face is pure and genuine and makes LeFou's heart flutter. A smile like that is so warm and sure, and makes him feel like their bond is unshakable - like that smile is for _him alone_.

They continue down the cobblestone path side by side; the streets aren’t crowded by any means, and they never have drawn particularly unwanted attention at night anyway. The moon is full and lights their way - it’s perfectly peaceful, but LeFou’s ready for a perfectly restless night at home.

“When I was young,” Gaston says suddenly, as they’re just steps from reaching LeFou’s quarters, “before we met, I had a dog. A faithful companion that followed me everywhere.” His voice is low, but soft and affectionate. “He was just like you, LeFou: loyal, handsome...and precious to me.”

And then they’re home, LeFou’s hand is at the door handle and Gaston presses up against him, keen to push him inside just as soon as the door’s unlocked. He’s needy and insistent, and LeFou fumbles to open the door as Gaston’s hand snakes around his neck.

“But you’re far better than some mongrel,” Gaston grunts, rocking his hips up against LeFou’s backside. “You want it, don’t you? _Mon chiot_...”

They practically spill onto the floor, saved by Gaston’s trained balance, holding LeFou to himself while he closes the door and locks it behind them. He turns his shorter friend around so that they’re chest-to-chest, and he bows his head to sloppily claim LeFou’s mouth as they work each other out of their waistcoats.

“G-Gaston!” LeFou nods, short, quick jerks of his head that signal his consent and affirmation and he manages a meek, “Yes--”

He feels drunk on Gaston’s scent and his taste.

He makes a dash up the stairs and Gaston chases him, backing LeFou first against the wall, then waltzing him into the bedroom with wet lips pressed to LeFou’s neck, nibbling at his earlobe and grating it gently between his teeth.

Strong fingers make easy work of LeFou’s cravat; the standing collar of his blouse is pulled at, its fastening undone in the fray of their bodies and hands moving against each other blindly in the dark. Gaston brushes LeFou’s hair back with one hand, sweeping it to the side and admiring the moonlit glow of him. It’s irresistible, and Gaston sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of his friend’s bared neck.

LeFou wails, clutching at Gaston’s arms - not to pull him away, but rather to keep him there. _Yes_ \- this is one of the things he loves most. This, he thinks, is only one of the reasons why he’s filth.

Those same strong fingers make their way to the leather collar, tracing its circumference idly, trailing off, and finally leaving his body completely. LeFou’s mind reels, his cheeks feel as burning hot as the candles he watches Gaston light; just enough of them to see by. Dim orange lighting fills the room like a dream, the flames’ wild flickering reflecting off the walls like a hallucination.

It’s then that Gaston’s index finger loops into the ring of the leather collar, pulls LeFou close with such a split-second motion that it chokes him, and snarls, “If you want it, beg for it.”

LeFou is all but thrown to the bed, and it’s a shock to his system when Gaston’s boot lands squarely on his tailbone, holding him down helplessly against his mattress. He grunts and flails for show, but ultimately he knows what Gaston is looking for.

“Please,” he gasps, rocking his own hips against the bed like a horny mutt, “Please Gaston, please…”

When he turns to see Gaston’s reaction, he finds a bemused scowl. “You can do better, my friend,” he says flatly, pressing the heel of his boot harder into LeFou’s flanks.

He cries out - “Ah!” - but he’s too embarrassed to say anything explicit. “Gaston, I--”

“You can’t even ask for it properly,” Gaston scoffs. “You’d rather rut against the furniture like a bitch in heat than have what you _know_ you want?”

He removes his foot and backs off, and LeFou uses the freedom to crawl further onto his bed. But Gaston is back and on top of him in a flash, pressing him into the mattress, pulling the collar so that it turns around LeFou’s neck; the ring slipping to the back forcefully. Gaston pulls a silken square handkerchief from his pocket; ties the tip with a double knot to the ring. When he tugs it, LeFou jerks up and coughs.

“Gh-Gast--!”

Gaston laughs, a low rumble that resonates through the room. It sends chills down LeFou’s spine - but he’s ready for what Gaston had promised him would come. Seconds later, Gaston is running a hand through LeFou’s hair, petting him over and over and over, and LeFou leans into it, letting his eyelids flutter closed, humming sweetly. But it’s that cue that Gaston uses to break him; grabbing a generous fistful of hair and throwing him to the ground. It isn’t far, and it doesn’t hurt to fall, but it’s surprising nonetheless, and LeFou hisses and mutters, “Dammit, Gaston--”

“Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture,” Gaston smirks, “and they don’t talk back.”

And then Gaston’s kneeling behind him; holds LeFou to him and their chests heave together. LeFou can feel Gaston’s heartbeat against his shoulder, can feel the way the man behind him moves to get his mouth on his neck. He suckles at LeFou’s skin - salty and damp - dragging his teeth along the reddish blooms of blood already rising to the surface.

“Hah-- Yes--” LeFou sputters with every new breath. “Ah!” as Gaston peels LeFou’s blouse off of him, pressing a hand firmly to the leather collar once more, once his chest is naked. He’s afraid of getting choked again - concerned by how he actually kind of likes the pressure below his larynx - but Gaston simply hugs him to his chest, nose buried in LeFou’s dark waves, breathing him in, placing countless small kisses to the crown of his head.  

“Beg for it,” the man repeats, voice running all the more ragged.

His hand roams down LeFou’s chest, rubbing light, exploratory circles against his skin every inch of the way down until he’s at the front of LeFou’s trousers, fingers trickling gently over the bulge there. He’s pliant and warm as Gaston rubs him through his clothing, LeFou biting his lip to keep from giving in; teasing Gaston for as long as he can by stifling his moans.

But Gaston’s famously impatient, and he rotates his wrist; wraps the handkerchief around his fist to better control LeFou, tugging him upright. He has little choice but to raise to his knees when the constriction of his throat gets to be too much, and he's sure that he looks a mess as he whines in protest.

“Forgive me, _mon chiot_ ,” Gaston whispers into his ear, “you drive me insane when you don’t obey.”

“G-God,” LeFou huffs out, eyes screwed shut. His stomach lurches, he feels nearly delirious. “Gaston, please, I-- I want it,” he tries. “Please, I want _you_.”

It’s all for show - he knows it, and Gaston probably knows it as well. Not to say that he _doesn’t_ want Gaston, but the vocalization of such a want prickles at his skin and humiliates him. The grip Gaston has on him loosens and LeFou slumps forward, breathing harshly through his nose. “ _Please_ , yes--”

Gaston grinds his hips behind LeFou’s back, painfully slowly, “That’s a good boy.”

LeFou rocks his ass back in time with Gaston’s hips, moaning softly with each shallow thrust. He can hear Gaston snickering behind him, and he soaks it in; fully accepts that it’s shameful for him to behave like this, shameful for him to not even care. His bottoms are uncomfortably restrictive and without Gaston’s hand there--

“Touch me,” LeFou chokes out. He leans back to rest his head against Gaston’s shoulder, baring his neck once more and offering proper access to the front of him. “Please?”

“Stand up,” Gaston says at last, and LeFou does.

Gaston pushes himself up off his knees and rises as well, making a move to hold LeFou close once more, chest to chest with a hand down the front of him. His slacks are unfastened with deft speed; Gaston's hand slipping inside beneath his undergarments. LeFou gasps out in unabashed pleasure at the touch, bucks into Gaston's hand like he has many times in the past - but never with the niggling reminder of ownership chafing his neck.

He _craves_ it; thrusts into the heat of Gaston's fist as it curls around the base of his cock, stroking him tightly, back and forth - the tip of LeFou’s cock sticking to his drawers with each of Gaston's zealous jerks. This is fine, but he wants--

“More.”

It's a whisper; his cheeks are absolutely on fire as he says it because he's never had to ask for it so bluntly before. “I need more...”

Gaston stops, breathes him in. LeFou’s eyes have long since closed but he can hear the soft footsteps; feels the obvious loss of his friend's body heat, and when he chances to finally open his eyes he finds Gaston sitting on the bed, legs spread wide enough for LeFou to sit between, and it's obvious what his next task will be.

But as LeFou moves to kneel at Gaston's knees, he orders, “Remove your pants and drawers, you must be uncomfortable.”

And - _God_ \- is he ever. Both from his erection and at the thought of stripping in front of the epitome of manliness, his paragon. They've been _naked_ together. They've been intimate and removed each other’s clothing countless times. But standing here in front of Gaston, with his leather collar with its silk leash, he feels filthy and more than a little bit nervous.

But there’s nothing for it and he complies, though hesitantly, eyes set on Gaston's. It's a quick and simple action; his bottoms slip past his hips and pool on the floor and it's done. He's left in his over-the-knee stockings, tip-toeing out of the pile of clothes and kicking them aside.

Gaston couldn't look happier with himself. It's that perfect look of entitlement and ego and confidence that puts a lump in LeFou's throat. He's gorgeous. His lips curl into a sneer, eyes sharp and shining brilliantly against the candlelight; he reaches out for the handkerchief and tugs LeFou to him. LeFou doesn’t need the incentive; he wants to be there, leaning into Gaston with his clenched fists pressed to the edge of the mattress for support.

And when they kiss again at last, LeFou feels lost in it, with their tongues rolling against one another’s, Gaston sucking at it and pressing his own tongue to the roof of his friend’s mouth; crashing their lips together wildly. Gaston's fang-like canines occasionally hit LeFou's, like an alpha wolf trying to draw the first blood.

LeFou can feel the pressure at his collar as Gaston begins to tug him slowly, slowly down, forcing their lips to part with a comet trail of saliva between them. He’s ready for the sudden jerk when it happens, and he falls to his knees with as much grace as he can muster, right between Gaston’s.

“There’s no better sight on earth than you on your knees, LeFou,” the man above him says darkly. The words wrench every last ounce of arousal from him; it spirals in LeFou’s abdomen, makes his cock twitch.

He wants Gaston to praise him, always, so he reaches out to unfasten the fly of Gaston's trousers before he's asked, fingers massaging up and down Gaston's thighs, pushing into his hip bones, making him moan at the soothing pressure of his ministrations. LeFou leans into lick a wet stripe over Gaston's tented groin, and again Gaston moans; riffles a hand through LeFou's hair and draws him in closer.

Finally he unfastens the buttons necessary to release Gaston from the confines of his linen drawers, letting him free with the tip of his cock not even an inch from LeFou’s lips, and when his eyes roll up for a reaction, Gaston’s grin hasn’t faltered. LeFou doesn’t waste time wrapping his lips around it, and Gaston doesn’t protest - that hand of his resting idly in LeFou’s hair with little pressure at all, simply allowing LeFou to take him in at his own pace.

The first effortless bob of his head has the tip of Gaston’s cock hitting the back of his throat; he hums around it, runs his tongue along the underside of it as best he can without gagging. He can feel it pulsate, growing harder by the second, and it spurs him on to continue, with another bob, and another, and then removing his lips from the head of Gaston’s cock with a smack. LeFou grips the man’s erection firmly in hand, stroking him as adeptly as he strokes Gaston’s ego, simultaneously lapping at his balls and running his tongue along what his hand neglects.

He earns a ragged groan from Gaston, and the hand in his hair twitches as though it means to tighten - but it doesn’t.

“Keep going, _mon chiot_ ,” Gaston sighs out. “Don’t let me leave your mouth--”

His own cock is aching for attention, hanging heavy and stiff between his legs; his knees are sore. He plunges Gaston’s cock into the back of his throat once more, and takes a chance to stroke himself when Gaston closes his eyes and moans softly in appreciation. It’s an incredible, overwhelming pleasure - finally touching himself to the rhythm of Gaston’s cock moving from his lips to his uvula. His technique is practiced - he knows Gaston likes it hard and fast, and he delivers as best he can, only gagging when the build up of saliva and precum on his tongue gets to be too much.

LeFou closes his eyes to mirror Gaston - all he wants to focus on is the weight of Gaston’s erection, hot on the flat of his tongue, and the pleasure he’s tearing from himself as he humps up into his own fist, rubbing his thumb over the slit of his cock when he tongues Gaston’s in tandem.

He’s so engrossed in his depravity that LeFou doesn’t notice when Gaston’s hand has slipped from his head; doesn’t notice the fingers that curl around his mock leash, nor the way Gaston clicks his tongue in reprimand. But when the collar at his neck is yanked harshly, pulling LeFou in close - _too close_ \- so that his nose rests against the damp trail of hair at Gaston’s abdomen - well, that’s noticeable.

Gaston’s free hand raises to tangle in LeFou’s hair once again, and this time his hold is rough, fierce and dominant. He keeps LeFou pressed to him, and LeFou struggles to relax his throat enough to swallow him down just a _little bit_ deeper, but he can barely breathe, especially when the instinct to gag is forcing him to choke, and the pressure of the collar on his neck is making him see stars.

“ _Mmphh--!_ ”

LeFou’s hands fly up to Gaston’s thighs. He tries to push off of him, but Gaston is too strong, and the only thing he can think to do is to drag his teeth along the top of Gaston’s cock, just hard enough to get the man to ease up.

And it works. Gaston grunts - or is it a laugh? - and releases his hold on the collar and LeFou leans back onto his heels, gasping, desperately inhaling and coughing. Dark, sweaty curls plaster his forehead and itch at his nose, and LeFou brushes them out of his eyes just in time to see Gaston moving to press a boot to his chest and kick him down onto his ass.

Gaston repositions himself on the edge of the bed, resting one leg out, slightly more in front of him than before. “If you want relief so badly you can rut against my leg like the mutt you are,” he sneers.

LeFou stares on in a daze, cheeks burning hot, chest burning hot - _everything burning hot_. Comparatively, Gaston looks perfectly composed, save for the slight brush of pink around his ears and cheekbones. Even he, however, looks as though he’s hypnotized into his role.

“Come here,” he commands, and LeFou scoots forward on his knees to comply.

Gaston wedges his calf between LeFou’s legs as he settles himself between Gaston’s knees yet again, and without even thinking, LeFou rocks his hips against it. It isn’t nearly as satisfying as his hand, but the euphoria he’s high on doesn’t let him stop the motion; keeps him rutting his bare erection against the leather of Gaston’s boot, leaking white pearls of precum against its tanned black surface.

Gaston tugs at the ring of the collar, and LeFou’s body jerks and he obeys, leaning into lick a line up the underside of Gaston’s erection. But the man’s strong hands cup LeFou’s cheeks gently, fingers stroking along the stubble at his jawline, thumbs kneading circles at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re so good,” he mumbles, dipping his thumbs into LeFou’s mouth, then. “Such a good boy…”

LeFou can’t suckle Gaston’s fingers like this - he sweeps his tongue over them in a futile effort, but Gaston simply smirks down at him; presses down on LeFou’s tongue and runs the pad of his thumb across his teeth, as if to search his mouth. His tongue is slick with saliva and he can’t help but drool around the fingers pushing in; Gaston running an index and middle finger along the side of his tongue as LeFou heaves and wills himself not to gag.

“Let me see that tongue of yours, LeFou,” Gaston says, and he’s nearly breathless now, taking his cock into his own hand and stroking slowly.

And it’s wholly erotic, LeFou watching Gaston stroke himself - faster, second by second - just inches away from his face, and he doesn’t dare shut his mouth, even as the drool trickles down, from his tongue to his lower lip and chin. He moans because he knows Gaston wants to hear it; he whimpers because he can’t help himself. He thrusts his hips against the hardness of Gaston’s leg, and when he’s feeling bold, he takes himself in hand and attempts to mimic Gaston’s pace.

Wishing it was Gaston’s hand instead of his own.

Then suddenly, Gaston topples over him, short of breath, panting through gritted teeth; eyes open but slitted and sharp like a beast. He pulls at LeFou’s hair, grabbing a healthy fistful and jerking his friend’s head up; LeFou doesn’t have the will to complain. He can tell Gaston’s close - has memorized that short countdown of huffs that signifies an oncoming orgasm - but when Gaston’s growls out, “LeFou,” it tips him over the edge himself.

LeFou howls; a wrecked moan that wracks his entire body. He spills stripes of white across his fist and Gaston’s boot, legs trembling, wanting to fall into Gaston’s warmth, but the man keeps him upright, that grip in his hair tightening with every pull of his fist up and down his shaft.

“Tongue,” he snaps, and LeFou opens his mouth wider, tongue lolling out shamelessly, drool beading at his chin.

And then Gaston’s cumming, ejaculate pooling on the back of LeFou’s tongue; striping the bridge of LeFou’s nose and cheek. LeFou swallows it down, dabbing blindly at his face to scoop up the rogue seed and sucking the tips of his fingers clean. Gaston leans back on his palms and admires the sight before him, smirking, catching his breath without a word.

LeFou sighs, sated and tired. He wants to kiss that handsome face.

He wants to lick him.

Most of all, LeFou wants to surprise him. He takes hold of Gaston’s soiled boot; rests the man’s calf against his shoulder. The look of blank confusion painted across Gaston’s features is priceless, and the feral hum in the back of his throat as LeFou leans into lick the cum off his boot is good enough to die for.

LeFou keeps eye contact with him as he does it; he wants Gaston to know that he’d do anything for him, whether Gaston calls him _son chiot_ or not.

And Gaston smiles at the sight - it’s not a grin - this time it’s that same warm smile he’d seen earlier in the evening. The smile that belongs to LeFou alone. He leans in; loops his index finger through the ring on LeFou’s collar one final time and LeFou stands to follow Gaston up further onto the bed.

They lean their foreheads together, sweaty and hot; the orange glow from the candlesticks moves against their bodies in subtly rhythmic patterns as they even their breaths. The collar is removed, Gaston’s fingers featherlight against the red marks it’s left behind on LeFou’s skin.

“We’ll let that heal until next time,” he says softly, and LeFou nods.

“Please.”

LeFou flops back onto the mattress, exhausted beyond belief. He expects Gaston to follow suit, but instead, he turns where he sits, soothing his thumb along LeFou’s right arm, back and forth.

“I’ll fetch water to heat for a bath,” Gaston says. “It’s the master who bathes his pet, after all.”

LeFou wants to laugh - it was funny as much as it was arousing, this strange roleplay - but all he can manage is a weak smile. He loves this man with all of his heart. He hopes he did okay.

“Sounds fine to me,” he nods.

He lets Gaston take care of him because he knows he deserves it, and once Gaston has left the room, LeFou rolls over to the foot of the bed and curls himself up into the quilts. His eyelids are heavy; his eyes are itchy and aching to be closed.

He gives into falling asleep, knowing that he's easy to wake, and sure enough, without knowing for sure how much time has passed, LeFou finds his eyes opening wearily to the sound of Gaston whistling at him - thrice in succession - from downstairs.

With a yawn and a stretch, LeFou’s stockinged feet patter across the floorboards to heed his master’s call.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget you can always message me on Tumblr (@rudigerblues) or Twitter (@riachinko) *o*


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